


Noctis

by valamerys



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Biting, Choking, Elucien - Freeform, F/M, PWP, Spanking, Vampire Sex, bloodsucking, dubcon, hairpulling, this has it all folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valamerys/pseuds/valamerys
Summary: Lucien is a vampire. Elain is the village's sacrifice in an attempt to keep him at bay.





	Noctis

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for anything resembling canon or context, look elsewhere. If you're looking for vampire themed smut, read on.

The darkness presses down around her, against her, and she can’t breathe for the thick black night filling her lungs.

 _Do you know who I am?_ The darkness asks her, and it has a man’s voice, rich and resonating but not human. It makes a shiver pool in her stomach, and Elain struggles for enough air to answer him.

“You’re the monster that plagues the village.” The darkness seems to press in harder, and something brushes her collarbone, her heaving chest, a tendril of dark that feels like a cold weight. Elain stifles a gasp. Her wrists strain against the ropes that tie them behind the post at her back, leaving her defenseless, the offering she is. “You’re here to… drink my blood. Devour me.”

A chuckle puffs cold against her cheek.  _No, not devour._

More of that darkness brushes back her hair from her neck, runs down her back, the chill seeping through her thin dress. White, as though the implication of her purity would entice him. Perhaps it has.

 _Just taste,_  the darkness says, unbearably close, unbearably heavy, and Elain feels a dull throb of fear through the struggle to breathe. She should be screaming and shaking and begging. She thought she would be. She did before, when they bound her and left her, the sun sinking beneath the trees, but now her terror feels so far away, so hard to reach out and grasp. Held at bay by the unearthly weight upon her that dominates her senses. It’s not unlike the weight of sleep, seducing her eyes to close and her body to slacken; or a thick winter blanket, pinning her pleasantly to silken sheets.

If this is to be her death, this dreamlike suffocation, that is not so terrible, not half as much as the deaths and defilings she envisioned. The darkness guides her head to tip back with chill fingertips and Elain does not resist.

 _Beautiful_ , it murmurs, and the voice comes from everywhere and from the mouth at her throat, lips ghosting soft and cold over her skin.  _My beautiful mate._

“Mate,” Elain repeats dizzily, the word garbled in her mouth.

The darkness raises its head.  _Yes_.

The darkness has eyes, fierce and unmatching. One is dark but the other is not an eye at all, it’s something gold, something metal and magic and other.

 _Creatures like us do not take paramours,_  he says.  _At least, not meaningful ones. We are created for our mate and for them alone. And you are mine._

It is too dark to see and yet she can see him clearly, the defined brow and hollow cheeks, full lips and broad shoulders. And hair, hair most of all, long and wild and red— if her hands were not bound she would reach out to touch it. He’s beautiful, strange and unreal but beautiful, and that as much as his words melting in her ears leaves her bewildered.

“Oh,” she breathes in belated response. Those lush lips, so close to her own, break into a gentle-sharp smile. Perhaps the glint of his too-long teeth, the wicked fangs that mark him as a beast should frighten her, but they don’t.

 _I’ve been waiting for you a long time, Elain._  He lowers his head to press his smile into her shoulder; finds his way back to her neck more boldly than before, not quite kissing, but nuzzling, like an affectionate animal.

Elain’s head falls back again, eyes closing at the sensation even as she forces herself to get out a weak half-question. “You know my name.”

 _I dreamt of you._  His mouth closes on a spot below her jaw, sucks gently, and Elain’s hands clench in the ropes.  _Your sweetness and your light. I knew what you were. I made sure it was you they brought to me._

The slumbering heaviness in her veins gives way to arousal so easily, a spark catching on dry branches. She gasps, and his hands are on her, one at her waist, one trailing down her hip to hook the back of her knee, draw her leg up and around him. His slender form is suddenly hard against hers with searing clarity, the post digging into her back. His growl reverberates through the air, through her whole body, as he holds her to him, hands clasping, lips seeking.

The closeness of him is aching but the feel of him is repellent, the lack of body heat corpselike and wrong against her flush skin and pounding heart. She does not fear but still some part of her, ancient, indelible, recoils, summons a protest to her lips even as she wants to draw him closer.

“You could have courted me,” she says, breathless. “Rather than going through all this trouble.”

His lips curve up against her skin. For a monster, he smiles often.  _Did I not?_

Memories come to Elain’s mind, fractured, fleeting things: strange shadows walking with her through the village, flickering in the corners of her cottage, the darkness caressing her as she passed into sleep. Dark figures in her dreams, faceless but for teeth, who’d held her and touched her and sometimes prompted her to wake with her fingers between her legs, trying to relieve the ache they left. Were they him? His creations, perhaps?

The way his hands tighten on her, the one on her leg slipping beneath the hem of her dress to grip her thigh, as though he knows her thoughts, shares them. Flush spreads across her neck, her chest; she’s not wearing anything beneath the simple dress, no drawers or stays, and if his fingers move any further up, he’ll realize it, and she wants him to, and she’s terrified of it.

He purrs in her ear,  _And would you really have preferred me to come to your door with flowers like a mortal boy…_

His hand on her waist travels, brushes one of her nipples peaked through the dress before trailing its way up, cold and gentle, to her throat— he seems to have a fixation with it.

_… Over this?_

His expression takes on a feral edge and his hand tightens. Suddenly he’s gripping her throat with bruising force and Elain’s gasp of shock is cut off, leaving her writhing in the ropes, against him, as he chokes her, as oxygen abandons her and her cunt throbs and her head swims.

 _I was made for you, Elain,_ he snarls softly in her ear.  _I know what you want. You can’t hide it from me._

He releases her, and Elain scarcely has time to draw a breath, tears stinging her eyes, before he’s hitching up her skirts, drawing the hand on her thigh back—

Only for it to land on her bare ass with a resounding  _smack_  and a sharp pain. The sound is obscene in the forest, exposed as they are, and Elain’s cry echoes through the trees as she tries futilely to get away from him, from this demon— it must be some evil magic of his, to make pain so pleasurable, to make her want him to hurt her more. Her pussy aches, begs for attention, and her hips move of their own accord, seeking friction.

 _Shh, pet, I know,_  he soothes, hand smoothing over the inflamed buttock.  _Don’t be afraid of me, of what you feel. I know how wet I’ve made you._

His hand strokes her inner thigh, teasing upwards, nudging her legs apart, and she could die of shame for how badly she wants him to touch her with those cold fingers, even as she tries to struggle. Her body burns and hungers and hurts and under all that, still the heavyness of his presence, still the intoxicating darkness and the hot strain of the rope restraining her wrists.

A growl rumbles in his chest as his fingers part her folds, finds no resistance in the slickness as he rubs back and forth. Elain lets out a heady moan, so wanton it almost horrifies her, except that what he’s doing feels so good, so necessary, so like she’s going to die if he stops.

“Please,” she whimpers, not sure what she’s asking for.

He’s breathing hard too, when he looks at her, when he lowers his mouth to hers and kisses her, with a sweetness at odds with his hand working her clit, her entrance, building her higher, spreading her wetness. His lips are cold but Elain doesn’t mind; she’s on fire, she has enough heat for the both of them.

He opens his mouth to her at the same moment he slips a finger inside her and Elain gasps into it, starting against the ropes, muscles straining.

_Does that feel good, dove?_

“Yes,” Elain murmurs, high-pitched. Her hips rock against his hand; he thrusts it in and out of her as he kisses her again, harder, tongue seeking hers. Her lips brush those sharp, terrifying teeth, and a spike of horror runs through her as her body remembers how  _wrong_ he is, how dangerous— but it just pools in her stomach with desire, making her  _want_.

She should stop this, should fight him, should use this seduction as a ruse so she can get free and run. Surely he still intends to kill her, somehow; pretty words about mates or not he is a monster who has killed and will again, the terror of the woods, the thing that drove her to nightmares as a child. But Elain cannot bring herself to care, to think beyond the sensations she’s been so starved of… and the ring of dark, terrifying truth to what he says, the draw between them. Mates. Elain has no idea what that means, but the primitive, possessive shape to the word makes her want to know. Makes her want to follow him into this darkness he commands.

Suddenly he withdraws his finger, and Elain’s eyes open in dismay; he kisses her again before she can speak, and she realizes he’s freeing himself from his trousers. Elain whines into his mouth, bucks her hips impatiently.

 _I need to feel you,_ he pants, an edge of near-frantic need in his voice that sounds the way Elain feels. Desperate.

“Yes,” Elain gets out, greedy eyes taking in the sight of him, thick and full. It makes her mouth go dry and her stomach clench; she wants it inside her as though she’s never wanted anything else. He grinds into her with a grunt, not penetrating her, just rutting, and Elain groans as the shaft runs between her lips, getting slick with her juices and teasing her clit. Even his cock is cold but the sensation is strange and exquisite, almost soothing against the swollen flesh of her sex.

“Please,” Elain breathes, not certain she can string words together. “Please… inside me.”

A dark, labored laugh. _You want me to fuck you, Elain?_  He bucks his hips so his cock rubs her just so, and Elain cries out.  _You want your mate’s cock inside you?_

“Yes,” Elain begs without hesitation. “Please, please fuck me.”

 _There’s no returning from this,_ he tells her in her ear, one hand guiding the tip of his cock maddeningly around her entrance, teasing. His voice is black velvet, soft and dark and traced with a snarl.  _If we do this, I’ll mark you, make you mine. The priests can come armed with an ocean’s worth of holy water and they still won’t be able to bless my taint from you._

Maybe his warnings should alarm her, make her want to turn away. But she suddenly can’t imagine wanting anything other than to be his. There was nothing for her in the village, nothing that could hold a candle to this, to this new world in his arms and this heavy bond between them and the intensity of her wanting.

“I don’t care,” Elain says, with as much fierceness as she can muster. “Just fuck me.”

His smile is a knife in the darkness, gutting her so smoothly as to be painless. She’s prepared for his cock at her entrance, her legs going around him for support, but not for the hand that comes up to her throat again, puts pressure there, pins her to the post at her back. He chokes her gently as he pushes in, and the slow ache of his cock filling her inch by inch as she struggles to breathe around that strong, icy hand makes her writhe with pleasure, mind buzzing as everything else ebbs away, leaving her only a receptacle for sensation, for the feeling of him stretching her.

He groans as he reaches the hilt, face buried in her shoulder, murmurs a curse in a tongue Elain doesn’t know. His body is tight against her, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself still inside her, holding her up.

She wants to cling to him, she wants to cry, she wants to fuck him back, make him move, but with her hands tied all she can do is gasp and _take it_  as he slackens the grip on her neck, supports her weight as he rolls his hips experimentally. Elain gives a little whimper at the feeling, at him inside her, thick and deep. Even the tiniest shift in position sparks stars behind her eyelids, and when he pulls almost all the way out and thrusts back in the whimper blossoms into a cry cut off— she bites her lip to swallow the noises.

 _Don’t do that, pet._ An amused flash of his teeth as he thrusts into her, slow, still testing. _I want to hear what I do to you._  His skin— brown but lifeless, eerily lacking the vitality that would mark him as human— beads with sweat, his unnatural eyes heavy and half-lidded, his body taut against hers even as his power bears down on them. It’s almost funny, in a slightly manic way: sex makes men as monsters, and monsters as men.

But Elain aqueisces, and when he shifts the angle of his hips just slightly, hitting her deeper, she lets him hear the full extent of the noise that leaves her.

 _That’s it,_  he pants, adjusting his iron grip on her thighs as he fucks her. _Good girl._

The term of endearment wracks her body with a shudder, and he grunts when she tightens around him.

“Please,” she gasps. “Harder. More.”

He growls, the inhuman sound reverberating through her bones, and she’ll have bruises where his fingers dig into her legs, her ass. But he increases the pace, the noises that come from their joining slick and obscene, and Elain strains helplessly against the rope, futilely trying to buck against him, urge him. If she was ever afraid of him, it’s drowned in lust, subsumed by desperation for him to move faster, take her harder, move his hips so she gets pressure on her throbbing clit. Choke her again. The exquisitely overwhelming feeling of his cock filling her over and over again is so, so good but it’s not enough, she wants to ask for still more, beg him—

But she doesn’t know his name.

“W-wait,” Elain gets out, with effort. “Stop.”

He stops— doesn’t pull out of her, just pauses, holding her, breathing harshly, brows drawn together. His lips are parted with exertion, long fangs glinting. They seem more pronounced than before.  _What’s wrong?_

“I just— “ Elain struggles for words, to force coherency from her scrambled mind even as her hips still push against him. “I don’t— don’t know your name.”

He huffs a labored breath of relief, drops his head to rest his forehead against hers.  _Lucien_.

“Lucien,” Elain repeats dumbly, and the weight of it feels right on her tongue. It summons a purrlike noise of pleasure from him, and he rocks his hips into her again, making her gasp.

 _Lucien_. His voice darkens, obsidian silk that makes her shiver.  _And I want to hear you say it when you come on my cock. When I drink from you._

He pulls out and pushes back into her savagely, setting their pace anew with little mercy, but Elain’s answering moan is as much for his words as for his cock— “ _When I drink from you.”_  In the frenzy of seduction she’s almost forgotten what he came here to do, his promise to taste her. To taste her blood. Her fear raises its head again, but it only serves to make the rising heat of him inside her sharper, more intense. Elain cries out in time with his thrusts, the post bruising her back. Her wrists are sore and raw; her arm muscles strained from the strange position, but her helplessness is intoxicating, and the instinctive terror of it mingles with the want-fear of his bite, all of it building to something unbearable in the pit of her stomach, in her slick, abused cunt.

His thrusts grow ragged now, his grunts more strained. His gaze on her is charged with the darkness itself, and she feels it like a brand as he slips a hand between them, watches her closely as he rubs her clit.

Elain bucks against him, and keens pathetically, not in control of her own body, tears pricking her eyes. It’s too much, he’s too much, it feels too good—

“Lucien,” she chokes out, certain that the desperation on her face says the rest as lightning blazes down her shaking limbs. “Lucien, I’m— please—”

He gives a vicious snarl, and winds a hand into her hair, her body pinned by his. Elain is about to cry out at the interruption to their rhythm when he pulls her hair savagely, forcing her head to the side, and sinks his teeth into her neck.

And Elain does cry out then, but not for any loss; the fierce, sharp pains send her tumbling over the edge, convulsing around his cock and babbling his name as the heat of the bite, a perverse arousal, sweet and terrible, sweeps through her. Lucien follows her a moment later, rutting into her with his mouth latched on her throat; his shout is muffled but a trickle of blood escapes and runs down to strain the neckline of that thoroughly ruined white dress.

Elain is certain she’d collapse if not for his weight supporting her, the slight pain of his bite keeping her tethered to this world. Aftershocks startle her with every minuscule shift of his hips, cock still inside her, and all she can do is feel the way he drinks from her, the way her racing, pounding heart sustains him. It should horrify her but the aftermath of her orgasm has left her so raw and trembling she only revels in it.

Suddenly she finds her hands freed— his power, no doubt. Her arms hurt as she brings them up to hold him in return, gingerly, the ropes dangling from her wrists.

He breaks away from her neck with a gasp, expression pained.  _Elain_ , he slurs immediately. His chin drips with red, and his good eye is preternaturally bright as he looks at her.  _Elain_.

She kisses him, and tastes her own blood on his lips, coppery and rich.


End file.
